Many, many good things happened in our
workshops at the Youth Detention Center. Often these would occur fleetingly, a
quick laugh, a searching question, an eager listening pose, an insightful
comment. It would be impossible to list all of these, but they happened
frequently. Here are some that were important to me.
The boys, and finally, girls really liked
the stories. They would come into the workshop sullen and resentful with their
heads down. As we told, the heads would rise, eye contact would be made and,
eventually, faces and body language showed total involvement. New residents,
who didn’t know what to expect and who started out with embarrassed giggles,
very quickly saw that the residents who had previously participated in
Storytelling were listening and listened themselves. Students remembered the
stories from day to day. Even after my first solo venture, when Julie P came in the
next day they could repeat what I’d told them.
There could be genuine
enthusiasm. There would be amen corner responses, often obscene and
incredulous that the characters could behave this way or angry at the frequent
injustice. There could be energetic discussions afterwards. If time was up and
a story wasn’t finished, they would insist on knowing how it ended. They could
retell the stories. Occasionally they would tell their own. Boys who had been
released and found their way back would greet us and tell us which stories
they remembered we had told them. Once, a boy who expressed his disgust at the
silliness of the stories provoked this response (more or less). “Just listen.
These stories have a lot to do with us.”
The workshop aspect of each session
usually involved some sort of creative response to the story. Most of these
were very successful. They painted masks, made dream catchers, constructed
collages of magic trees and monsters, painted and drew and used markers. They
often worked with an intensity and focus that surprised me. If one session
wasn’t enough to finish the work, they wanted to continue the next day. Often
they wanted to take the results back with them to the residence area. They
wrote vivid poetry drawn from their own experiences and were pleased to have it
read aloud. It’s hard to imagine where else in their lives the opportunity for
this kind of expression would arise
With those boys who were there for an
extended period we did develop a trust and familiarity. W was a prime example.
He was there for a year, waiting to reach his majority so he could be sent to
real jail. When he first arrived, Julie DT and I were using the tarot cards
again. He was clearly miserable. I gave him The Tower and told him just to look
at it. He did. He cheered up as time went on, listened closely, had much to say
and became a favorite of ours. We have kept a running commentary on our
sessions on a wiki site and during that year, the comments increasingly
mentioned W, his responses and general participation, even whether or not he
was there, as if that in itself were an important point. I wished him well the
last time I saw him before he left. I couldn’t shake his hand because at that
time were were not supposed to touch the boys, but I would have. On his way out
he said that he would see me again. He didn’t know how but he would. I think we
still miss him.
There’s the story of A. When I first met
him, I referred him in my wiki post, to my lasting shame, as a dope. He giggled
constantly and blurted out inappropriate comments, and did strange disruptive
things with whatever was at hand. He was, of course, a damaged person with
something like Tourette’s, though I have no idea whether that was it. Julie DT
and I went in one day to find, to our relief, that he was gone. As part of this
work at the Morris County facilities, we would spend a third 45 minute session
at the youth shelter down the hill (a story for another blog). When we arrived
this time, there was A. He told us that his favorite story was “The Ugly
Duckling”. Julie asked why. He said that he felt like the duckling, hated and
avoided.
That day, we were telling stories about
the goddess and A contributed excellent observations about the powers of women.
Julie sort of told the “Duckling”. When I told my story, I think it was Baba
Yaga, he focused, was quiet, and tried hard to articulate his response when I
was through. It was a stunning example of the power a story can have. A was
touched, focused, brought back for a time from his usual disruption. It was a
session neither Julie nor I will forget.
Finally there was H who spent his classes,
when T was present, with his head in his hands. He never looked up. At this
point we were in a different room with no guard so we let him get away with it.
When T left, H’s head would come up for a while. He began to comment on the
stories from within his arms. “Just because my head’s in my arms that doesn’t
mean I’m not listening.” Sometimes he came in and was totally there. His
re-emergence was another example of the way trust would build with a resident
who was in the Center for a long time. During our last few sessions last Spring, we had
the boys writing dialogue and acting it out, often improvising. (Without a
guard present, we were able to move around and interact.) The sessions were
noisy and delightful. It was play. H wrote at length. During one of those
sessions I told “The Golden Bird” again. He had a lot to say, and anticipated
events in the story as it went along. He was impatient with the foolishness of
the hero. At the very last session, Paula and I decided just to tell stories.
Paula announced that it might be our very last time there. H looked up, mouth
open in astonishment and, I think, dismay. After Paula explained why, he went
back to his writing, one ear cocked to our stories. He was leaving the facility
shortly thereafter.
We rarely knew what these residents had
done to bring them to the Detention Center and we did not want to know. We were working with
something else. Except for what we could see once in a while during the
sessions, it is difficult to know if we made any impact. Did W take some part
of us or our stories with him to help sustain him through his hard time? Did
any of the residents, as they lay in bed at night, in lock-down, think about
the story they had just heard? Did it make a connection? We can only hope so.
Was it all worth it? Absolutely.
As a postscript, I need to say that one of
the wonderful things for me about working at these facilities was the chance to
interact so closely and cooperatively with four great storytellers who were
full of ideas and offered wonderful support, all under Paula’s capable
guidance.
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